


Into the Unknown

by lucyrinner, skyepoots



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fic Exchange, academy through current time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:17:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3972508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyrinner/pseuds/lucyrinner, https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyepoots/pseuds/skyepoots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Jemma thought Fitz was hot, and one time she told him. Written for the Better Together fic exchange with skyepoots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> This is for losingfitzsimmons and style3645, our fellow Fitzsimmons network members. Nia (skyepoots) and I had so much fun writing it- Hope you enjoy!

  1. **Academy**



 

“Fitz, I swear to God, if you roll your eyes at me one more time, I’m leaving you for Sara McMillan over at general chemistry.”

 

Fitz has to, yet again, roll his eyes at this, just a little. “Jemma, you would never be desperate enough to work with that girl. And I have the right to be upset, thank you! A sixth grader could do this lab!”

 

“Fitz, we’re still working with highly dangerous chemicals.”

 

“Ooh, yeah, some Acetic Anhydride. Why don’t we just build a baking soda volcano?”

 

She shook her head, almost repressing a smile. Even though she would’ve never said it out loud, she agreed with him. They were capable of so much more, especially as a team, and Professor Weber gives them this?

 

But she starts it, because ‘there are no small experiments, only small scientists’ and, lately, she doesn’t seem to mind being stuck in a lab with Fitz, no matter how bland the work is.

 

“I refuse to even put on a lab coat for this. I am offended too much.”

 

“You just hate the fact they thought you were a small.” She retorts while carefully fills a small test tube and places it into the centrifuge.

 

“20 milliliters of barium peroxide, please,” she says as she moves the test tube of acid to where he’s pouring the peroxide, watching him when it happens.

 

His bloody phone rings, and it’s the doctor who theme, and it’s just loud enough for them both to startle.

 

They both drop the beakers they’re holding, and turn around, startled.

 

“Fitz, put it on vibrate!” She chastises, grabbing the phone and turning it off.

 

She doesn’t get a response, which annoys her a little more. “How many times do I have to tell you-”

 

“Jemma!”

 

She turns around and sees the beakers broken on the counter, the acetic anhydride mixing with the barium peroxide. She has two seconds to look at Fitz, eyes wide, until he tackles her amid broken glass and a small explosion that would’ve taken her off her feet if he hadn’t already.

 

He jumps into action when he gets up, noticing the small blaze on the counter. He helps Jemma quickly off the floor and pulls the fire alarm, the loud noises going off almost immediately.

 

“What do we do now?” He yells amid the alarm, and she wants to slap him.

 

“Don’t you know the first thing of lab safety?” Jemma yells back at him, already taking off her white jacket and throwing it in the corner.

 

“Is this the time for a lecture, Jemma?” he looks at her like she’s gone crazy, like maybe she hit her head on the ground a little too hard when he tackled her. She’s down to her shirt and jeans now, frantically stripping right in front of him.

 

“Decontamination! We need to take off the contaminated clothes and get in the shower!” She would laugh at the ridiculous expression he has on his face when she says this, but since the fumes from the fire are still coming and she’s the one that actually paid attention to the lab safety units, Jemma hits him in the shoulder to get him moving. “Well, come on, then!”

 

Fitz removes his cardigan and tie, whipping it off and throwing it in the corner next to hers. He’s shirtless and she’s in her bra when she removes the cover of the big red button next to the decontamination shower and hits it, throwing open the door and pulling him in.

 

His eyes are still wide when she shower spray turns on and hits him square in the face, soaking him. It’s freezing when they both grab the bottle of soap at the same time and he lets go, stepping as far as he can from her in the small space as her can.

 

And just for a second, between the slight fear of getting some horrible skin disease and the embarrassment at messing up so horribly, between the fire department bursting in on her and her best friend mostly undressed in the decom shower, faces totally red and eyes avoiding one another, she can’t help but glance at him, even after they’ve been handed a towel and cleared from any long lasting effects.

 

Maybe a tiny lab explosion or two isn’t the worst thing in the world.

 

* * *

**2\. Post Grad**

There were a lot of ways Jemma Simmons imagined her first SHIELD office party. A bunch of people in lab coats, talking about the latest scientific discovery over cocktails. Maybe it’d be like the parties her mother always talked about, with karaoke and business casual clothing and gossiping about how Beth’s new baby seemed to have a problem.

 

Never did she expect one of her bosses renting out an entire bowling alley and getting a single email from her supervisor with only the words, “Agent Marcus is retiring. Parker’s Bowling Friday at 7. You’re on my team, Agent Simmons.” (Agent Marcus had been particularly fond of bowling, she found out later.)

 

She and Fitz walked together from their apartment to the alley, which was only two blocks away from their complex and five blocks from their workplace. They arrived at precisely 6:55 pm. By then, half of their lab had already come and was separated into several small clumps (which later showed themselves as teams). The young pair quickly rented their shoes and walked over to Agent Vincent, their supervisor.

 

“So good to see you outside of work, Agent Vincent.” Jemma said. However, Agent Vincent wasn’t one for greetings that night

 

“What’s he doing here?” Agent Vincent asked.

 

“Oh, Fitz? I assumed he was one our team, as we’re always a pair.”

 

“Well, not tonight.” the agent said, pointing to a group of agents several lanes away. “Tonight’s game is bio and biochem versus everyone else. Marcus’s rules.”

 

“See you, Jemma.” Fitz told his partner before walking away to meet his teammates. Meanwhile, Agent Vincent dragged Jemma over to the rest of their team, a group of six.

 

“Aren’t there more of us at the lab?” Jemma wondered out loud.

 

“We’ve separated into groups of six and we’re playing against each other for the opportunity to beat the crap out of physics and engineering.” Agent Vincent said.

 

“New girl,” one of their teammates teased, laughing with his friend.

 

There wasn’t a long wait for the games to begin. By 7:15, everyone from the labs had arrived, put on their shoes, and had assembled with their teams. Biology and biochem took up the first few lanes, while physics and engineering took the last.

 

Jemma’s first game was rather slow, with a member of the opposing team trying to take time to measure out the length of the path and punching numbers into a calculator in order to determine the angle and force needed to create a strike.

 

“Come on already!” one of Jemma’s teammates yelled.

 

“Agent Marcus is faster, and he’s 70.” Jemma muttered under her breath out of habit. Usually, Fitz would have been right beside her, laughing at her joke. However, her yelling teammate heard and unexpectedly high-fived her.

 

“Sportsmanship, Simmons and Harper.” The opposing team’s captain scolding, having heard their exchange. However, Jemma And Agent Harper both laughed. Finally, the agent had finished his calculations and rolled the ball, only to get a gutter on his first try. On the second, he knocked two pins down.

 

“Should have factored in height,” he told himself. After a few people went and rolled, it was Jemma’s turn. Standing up at the lane, she rolled the ball and knocked down nine pins. On her second try, she knocked down that last done in the corner, earning her team a spare. Afterward, the games moved fairly quickly, with no more measuring or calculating. Jemma consistently rolled spares for her team, eventually helping them win the rest of the matches in their own department. Their team alone moved up to play for the crown against Agent Marcus’s physics and engineering team.

 

Unfortunately, Agent Marcus’s star player was sadly, not himself, but Fitz.

 

As the two teams gathered at the building’s center lane and the rest of their lab gathered around to watch, Jemma took the opportunity to squeeze next to her best friend on a two small metal chair facing the lane.

 

“Are you ready to lose?” Jemma whispered in his ear.

 

“Are you implying that your team is better than mine?” Fitz asked. “Well, I’ll have you know, I’ve been getting strikes since the game started.”

 

“Of course you are,” Jemma said jokingly. She knew he could do it. She knew he probably did. But she wasn’t going to let him think that. She wanted to win.

 

Just then, Agent Vincent made a strike and a deafening cheer erupted from the bio part of the crown. After the noise died down, the game resumed.

 

Finally, it was Jemma’s turn, and she rolled her first strike of the night. Then, Fitz went, rolling his own strike.

 

Suddenly, it became war. When they weren’t sitting on the same chair, they were either shamelessly trash-talking the other (good naturedly, of course) or rolling strike after strike after strike.

 

Eventually, it came time for the games to end. And with that, came the last rolls. Jemma walked up and was ready to roll when Agent Harper shouted “You go Simmons!” and drowned out whatever insult Fitz had planned. Jemma shot Agent Harper a glare. Then, she rolled her first spare since the final showdown began. She walked, dejectedly back to the chair as Fitz got up, selected his ball, steadied himself into position, and rolled yet another strike.

 

The scores tallied themselves up, with Fitz’s team announced as the winner. As he high fived and hugged his teammates and coworkers, Jemma couldn’t help but notice the way he looked under the bright lights.  She saw his glowing smile and the way his body moved like he had just drunk 100 large cups of coffee. And how those bright lights made him look extremely hot and sweaty.

 

And that winning looked extremely well on him. She might have even used the word hot.

 

* * *

**3\. Early S1**

 

In her defense, Jemma did not plan any of this. She did not want anything to happen.

 

No, she had a plan, and that plan meant getting accustomed to living on a plane instead of an apartment or a house in the best way she knew: scheduling.

 

Every day, she scheduled herself a 7:15 pm shower, after dinner and just long enough before she went to sleep so that she didn’t wake up in a pool of water.

 

Sadly, some people didn’t follow schedules.

 

“Fitz, when are you going to be out of there?” Jemma asked, banging on the too thin shower door. It was already 7:17 pm on her watch which meant that it was two minutes after she was already supposed to begin her shower, despite all the time zones they could have been flying through at that moment.

 

“Five minutes!” Fitz yelled back. “I promise!” Sighing, Jemma went back to her bunk and waited for 7 minutes, a perfect amount of time for her friend to get out of the shower, get dressed, and exit the vicinity.

 

Well, not quite.

 

She exited her bunk and opened the door to the shower, perfectly aware that Fitz was still putting his clothes on.

 

“Hey! Close the door will you?” He shouted at her as she caught a glimpse of him and closed the door.

 

“You said five minutes, Fitz! I gave you seven.” Jemma replied. Immediately, she silently reprimanded herself for not coming up with anything better to say when she saw her friend naked for the first time. No “Wow, you look really good” or “I am so sorry I didn’t mind to do that”.

 

“Well, give me one more and we can forget it happened.” Fitz said, no longer yelling. Jemma counted down the seconds and leaned against the wall counting down the seconds.

 

At 42, Fitz exited the bathroom and said, “We’ve got to talk to Coulson about building another one of these. Damn plane has a great shower head but no room for two showers.And I’m sorry, for the whole… thing.” Jemma nodded along and entered the bathroom.

 

They say showering was the perfect way to clear one’s mind. But as she stood under the water that evening, her mind was anything but clear. No, she was preoccupied with the way her best friend looked, all the skin and bone and muscle that she had seen before.

 

Sure, she had seen him without a shirt tons of times back at the academy, but this seemed different.

 

This was different.

 

Attractive different. Brain melting over your best friend different. Hot different.

 

* * *

**4\. Early S1**

 

It was a little known fact that, while Grant Ward was highly regarded as one of SHIELD’s top agents, with a skill set comparable to his mentors, his ability to hold his alcohol was only slightly better than that of a seventeen year old girl.

 

This fact, though previously unknown, was one Fitz and Simmons enjoyed learning.

 

Immensely.

 

“It’s not like Skye’s any better,” Simmons whispers to Fitz with a slight giggle, tiptoeing out of the common room, following right behind him. “She went down about two minutes after Ward did!”

 

Fitz holds his finger to his lips in an attempt to shush her, even though he’s trying his hardest not to laugh.

 

Another mission had been completed, and the four of the team members had gone a little overboard in their attempt to destress. It started with board games and ended with Skye trying to drunkenly initiate a limbo contest. She and Ward were passed out on the couch, both sleeping happily, most likely unaware of the migraines waiting for them come morning.

 

They continued to step quietly, stopping when they reached the fridge. They grabbed water bottles for each of them, going back to lay them lightly on the coffee table next to their sleeping friends. Fitz gestured for Simmons to follow him back to his bunk, speaking at a normal volume once the door shut behind them.

 

“That was the most intense game of Truth or Dare I have ever participated in,” Jemma says as she flops on his bed, immediately curling up, resting her head on the pillow, yawning.

 

“Not you, too? Lightweights, all of you are. I swear to god, I might be the only person on this plane who can hold their alcohol,” he laughs.

 

“If you think you could out-drink Melinda May,” she replies, lifting her head up from his pillow to give him a good stare. “You are dumber than I ever thought you were, Fitz."

 

He laughs and sits on the bed next to her, budging her over slightly, wondering whether he’s too close or too far away or not saying enough or if maybe he should just turn on a happier episode of Doctor Who and ignore the fact that he has to overthink hanging out with his best friend.

 

“I suppose we should just go to bed, right?” Fitz says, looking over at her. She nods in his direction, already beginning to close her eyes and drift off.

 

He gets up with a groans and moves toward her, picking her up bridal style. She opens her eyes just a centimeter to look up at him, chin on top of her head.

 

"Alright, let's go," he whispers to her as the squirms slightly, then sighs, already comfortable.

 

She registers only what she catches when she has the strength to open her eyes a little, noticing the way Fitz’s hand is warm against her back, and wow, that game of truth or dare was way too intense for a Tuesday night.

 

He carries her all the way to her bunk and lays her on top of her comforter, and for just a moment, a quick one, all she wanted to do was say what was on her mind ever since he attempted to jump out of a plane for her with a parachute only half on.

 

But she curls up under the blankets instead and tries her hardest not to dream about the bright blue eyes with a matching tie wrapped around his neck- the one that’s always been her favorite.

 

(The next morning, however, when he brings her water and talks loudly in a thicker accent than she believes necessary in her bunk while her head pounds, she finds him slightly less attractive and infinitely more annoying.)

 

* * *

**5\. Post-Takeover**

****  
  


It doesn’t fully sink in that they’re on the run until Coulson starts handing out room assignments.

 

“We have two rooms, one has two beds and it’s connected to one with one bed. We’re tight on money, so we’ll have so share.” He begins. “May, Skye, Trip, and I in the first room, and Fitzsimmons in the other. Move out.”

 

“You’d think he was going over a battle plan, not just assigning rooms,” Trip jokes. Skye smiles at him as they walk back into the motel, to their room. Meanwhile, Coulson and May are engaged in a conversation about next day’s plans.

 

“I’ll sleep on the floor if you want.” Fitz tells her.

 

“Don’t be silly,” Jemma says back. “The bed’s big enough so that we can share.” Fitz nods and they sit there, silent with their legs in the pool until their eyes are too heavy to stay open. They go inside the cheap motel, finding their room, and both plop down on the bed upon entrance.

 

Immediately they are struck with the sound with someone snoring.

 

“Must be Coulson.” Jemma says as Fitz declares “Definitely Skye.” She gives him a weird look until he explains.

 

“I slept by her bunk on the bus. What do you expect?” he says.

 

“Guess the walls were thinner than we thought,” Jemma jokes. Fitz laughs softly.

 

“ ‘Night, Jemma.”

 

“ ‘Night, Fitz.”

 

They both pull the blanket over themselves, and settle into comfortable positions on the bed. Fitz on the left, facing the wall, and Jemma on the right, facing the opposite wall. They close their eyes and try to fall asleep, but a new bed and a new reality keeps them awake, tossing and turning for what feels like hours until they’re both facing the center of the bed.

 

“Maybe we should tell Skye to stop snoring,” Fitz says.

 

“Go to sleep, Fitz.” is all Jemma, in a sort of pre-sleep haze, has to say.

 

And then they sleep until the light of dawn bursts through the curtains they forgot to close.

-

The light shining through those curtains woke Jemma up later than she expected, sighing when she looked at the alarm clock on the night table. 9 o’clock. She hadn’t slept this long since-

 

Well, since her home was invaded by sociopathic nazi agents with guns and stupid beards that betray your team and-

 

Okay, maybe she needed more sleep. She turns slightly, but finds something’s getting in the way of her ability to move more than three inches to the left, and that thing is warm and breathing.

 

Fitz is wrapped around her, his front to her back, and she suddenly becomes fully aware of every single millimeter he moves and every breath he takes. She opens her eyes wide, startled with the sudden closeness, and wonders when they drifted together like this. They had met right in the middle of the lumpy bed, him wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close.

 

She tries to shift a little, enough to see his face, but not enough to wake him up. She’s not sure why she doesn’t just yawn really loud and jump out of the bed quick enough for him never to even notice they were lying there like they were, but Jemma likes looking at him like this. Calm, the scottish sassiness not apparent in sleep. Over the past few days, between the drama and the pain she knows they’ve all gone through, it’s nice to see him like this.

 

Her eyes travel to his messy curls and she smiles, remembering all the times she’s seen them less than perfect. All those times at the Academy when they stayed up late to study when the bags under his eyes didn’t take away from anything else. When he’d run into class after he’d overslept, bag over his shoulder and hair pointing every which way.

 

Jemma likes it more like that, but she’s never told him. Maybe she will, one day.

 

But for now, there’s work to do and government agencies to save, so she takes one last look at his tousled hair and his sleeping for and breaks out his embrace, pulling back the covers and gathering her stuff, getting ready for a shower.

 

And if her eyes linger for a few seconds on his shirtless form before she walks into the bathroom, no one’s any the wiser.

 

* * *

**+1. Season 2**

****  
  


The moment Jemma sees him, she forgets that she’s supposed to be angry, running and hugging the life out of him. Caught off guard, Fitz hesitates for a few seconds before hugging her back.

 

“I missed you so much,” she whispers in his ear.

 

“I missed you too,” he replies.

 

And they hold onto each other like the world doesn’t exist, but it does. Within seconds, they are pulled apart by an “ahem” coming from May.

 

“It’s good to have you back, Agent Fitz.” May says.

 

“It’s good to be back,” he replies, even though he’s not exactly sure he means it.

 

“How about we unpack, Fitz?” Jemma says, pulling him away from the garage and to the bedroom he emptied eons ago.

 

“You opened the box?” She asks. He nods. “That’s amazing.”

 

“Really funny story too, it happened in a bathroom.” He says, and she laughs.

 

“But how did you get in touch with Ward? What did Coulson do? What did Ward do?” She asks, her mind spinning and looking for answers. “Why is he back?” Almost immediately after she finished her questions, Fitz puts his hand on hers.

 

“It’s okay,” he assures her. “We were looking for Skye.”

 

“Is she okay?” Jemma asks.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Then what are we waiting for?” She stands up. “Skye’s out there and we need to be looking for her!” Fitz stands up too.

 

“I heard Coulson talking to Gonzales about a mission, don’t know anything about it though.”

 

“Seems a trend with him,” Jemma mutters to herself. Fitz looks up at her, but doesn’t say anything. “Promise me this won’t won’t happen again. That we won’t get torn apart again. Not for any mission, not even if Coulson has anything has anything to say about it.”

“I promise.” he replies, standing up and wrapping his arms around her. She hugs back and closes her eyes, pretending that this doesn’t feel like a goodbye hug or an “I’m sorry all these things have happened to us” hug. She pretends that they are hugging because it’s just something they do, and she holds on tight.

 

She can’t help but hope they’re in the same room holding each other in a very different way soon after.

 

But they’re in agent mode right now, and she sits on the plane, strapped in tight, her mind reeling over the past hours.

 

Jemma’s willpower is just strong enough to keep her from looking away from Fitz, sitting so close, right next to her. But Ward’s here and he doesn’t deserve to know, don’t deserve to see them happy after what he did, and for a quick second, Jemma feels like taking a page out of Fitz’s book with the whole “someone hold me back!” speech he gave.

 

But she stays still and tries not to let her mind wander, tries to think about the extremely dangerous mission that involves lots of bullets and anti-aircraft weapons.

 

Jemma allows herself one second, just one blissful second where she thinks about the way Fitz hugged her back and the way Fitz did more than hug her, and despite the somber and grim setting she’s currently sitting in, she finds herself suppressing a smile, and remembers a few hours before, when she fastened the buttons on the back of his black kevlar vest and lets her hands linger for a few seconds, terrified to let go, scared of the mission they’re about to go on and scared of losing everything they worked so hard for, scared to see Ward.

 

She turns to him, and in a whisper that she makes sure no one will hear, tries to tell him what she’s feeling, but can only get a few words out.

 

“I, uh, missed you. A lot.”

 

Fitz is still concentrating on Ward, but he gives her a small smile. “It’s nice to be back,” he says quietly. “Even if this is what I have to deal with.”

 

She looks him up and down in the black gear that he used to complain about being tight and hot, and blurts out something he’ll tease her about for the rest of their lives.

 

“You look good, Fitz. Like, really good.”

 

It’s not appropriate for the mission. It’s not the time, place, or company to say that, and Jemma feels like jumping out of the plane without a parachute just so Fitz doesn’t see her rapidly reddening cheeks.

 

He laughs, the first time in a while that it’s been that clear and light, even if they can’t speak loud enough for their voices to carry.

 

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Agent Simmons.”

 

He looks at her like she’s never seen him look at her before, even though it’s definitely not the first time. All those years of awkward encounters and almosts, she has the strongest urge to grab him by the shoulders and make Ward turn his head away.

 

But she ignores it and gives his arm a quick squeeze before unbuckling her seatbelt and giving him a quick smile.

 

“See you on the other side, Agent Fitz.” Jemma says curtly, a small smile threatening to make its way onto her face.

 

He grins and takes the bag, standing up to walk towards the cargo ramp, into the unknown, side by side with her.

  
  
  



End file.
